


and i couldn't ask for more

by a_4_patch_problem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Caring John, Homeless Sherlock, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_4_patch_problem/pseuds/a_4_patch_problem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The streets were cold, wet, dark, and in the dark crept rats, creatures too vile to show their faces to the light.</p><p>But there were people like Sherlock Holmes, too.</p><p>People that had made a few wrong turns in life.</p><p>People who never got the chance to fix things.</p><p>And because of that, they were stuck there, in the cold, wet, dark streets, with all the rats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing.
> 
> xx Lex
> 
> For convenience, words I didn't think many people would know have a "*" by them. This means that they're defined in the end notes.
> 
> (I will definitely continue this, I just had to post it before it got deleted in my drafts)

Sunlight crept across the sky, flooding Sherlock's vision with vibrant pinks, oranges, and touches of purple on the horizon, the colors contrasting against the dull grey brick of the bridge he currently resided under.

It had rained last night. In a split decision as the downpour started, he had found shelter under the crumbling structure.

And he'd payed for it. His back was stiff and cold, his hands and feet numb, and his nose running slightly with promise of an upcoming cold.

Sherlock didn't look forward to it.

He sighed and got up, stretching, and winced at the almost _unbearable_ pain that surfaced low in his back. Ah. _Right_. The man who'd offered him a place to stay last night had-

Nevermind. He couldn't change what had happened by dwelling on it.

Pulling his tattered, black coat tight around him in an attempt to keep warm, Sherlock stepped out from under the bridge. A late November wind blew his dirty hair back from his forehead and he winced.

"You alright, mate?" a voice called from behind him. He turned around, ready to run if need be, but a friendly looking man, cheeks pink from cold, waved at him with a gloved hand. Ha. Like the man actually cared.

"I'm fine." Sherlock stated defiantly, but his body racked with shivers, only proving that he was indeed  _not_ fine.

"No you're not. It's bloody freezing out here. Y'know, I was just about to go to lunch. Care to join me?"

Sherlock was really in no position to say 'no'.

"Fine."

<<>>

_He'd been walking through the streets. It had been below the freezing point, wind biting at his face, when an intimidating man had stepped out of the shadows._

_"You got anywhere to stay tonight?"_

_"Why does it concern you?"_

_"You look cold. And I have a spare room at my place."_

_He had shivered, proving the man's point. "Fine." He could deduce the man had questionable motives, but he knew he could always escape if he needed to._

_Right now, all he cared about was finding a warm place to spend the night._

<<>>

After they'd been seated, Sherlock looked at the menu blankly. The prices were much too high. "I don't have nearly enough money for this." he admitted, but the stranger simply smiled at him.

"It's fine. Whatever you want is on me."

He stared at the man for a moment, in slight shock, before looking back down at the menu. "Thank you, John." And, for some reason, he wasn't just saying that to be polite. There was something about this man that made Sherlock truly... _grateful_ to have met him. He'd have to look into that at a later time.

"I don't think I ever told you my name." John said curiously.

"You're phone's on the table, and you just received a text from someone, who referred to you as 'John.' Wasn't really that hard to figure out. If it makes you feel any better, my name is Sherlock." The waiter came by, and Sherlock ordered black coffee with fish and chips. John ordered a chicken sandwich.

A few minutes later, the food arrived, and John chewed a bite of his sandwich thoughtfully.

"I can tell you want to ask something. What is it?" Sherlock asked in a bored tone.

"Well- you seem very observant. What else can you tell about me?"

Sherlock scanned him for a moment before answering. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

This caused John to go wide-eyed with surprise, and Sherlock almost laughed. "Ehm, Afghanistan. How the hell did you know."

"Military haircut, gunshot wound in your left shoulder, psychosomatic limp- which, despite what your therapist tells you, comes purely from your mind. You're tanned, so it must've been somewhere hot and sunny. All I had to do was narrow it down to the two." He paused to take a small bite of fish, his hunger making him want to down the entire thing in one go, but he resisted and savored it. He could never know when he'd get another chance to eat like this.

John, being strangely observant for an ordinary person, seemed to notice this, and gave Sherlock a sad smile. Sherlock simply scoffed at him. He didn't need  _pity._

"I don't need your pity, John." he snapped, causing John's smile to falter.

"Sorry. It's not pity, it's just...you're brilliant. And you shouldn't be living a life like this with a skill like that." The statement caught Sherlock by surprise, and he nearly choked.

" _Brilliant?_ That's not what people usually say."

"Well, yeah. You're utterly brilliant. What do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

John laughed, and Sherlock couldn't help but laugh a bit as well.

<<>>

_The man did, in fact have a spare bedroom. And a fireplace that gradually warmed his frozen limbs. Sherlock was also offered soup, cannned, judging by it's appearance, but it was food nonetheless. He was so hungry._

_So hungry he downed the entire bowl without really tasting it._

_This was his mistake._

<<>>

"I suppose I'll be off then." Sherlock said reluctantly as he and John stood outside the cafe, a cold chill slowly seeping into his bones once again. "Thank you for lunch, John."

"Are...are you sure you'll be alright?" There was a sad tone to his voice, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I've survived years without your assistance, John. Do have some faith in me."

John chewed his bottom lip for a moment, looking as if he was having an internal debate about whether to say something. "I..." he started, and glanced at Sherlock's worn down coat. "If you'd like, you could stay at my place. I've got an spare room."

At that, Sherlock winced slightly. So many strangers had promised him a nice, warm place to stay. And so many had lied, or tricked him, or...taken their anger out on him in multiple ways.

But he knew that it would soon begin to snow, and he would no longer find much refuge under a bridge. 

"...I think I may accept your offer."

<<>>

_Sherlock wasn't stupid. Well, maybe he was, a little, for not being more careful about taking food from a stranger._

_But he did know exactly what was about to happen once the *ketamine- which he suspected had been mixed with the soup -began to take effect on his body, causing his eyelids to grow heavy, brain becoming slightly fuzzy with the need to sleep._

_He had to get out of there. Now._

_As he started to make a quick escape, the man stood in front of the door, blocking his path. "Why in such a rush?" he asked coldly. "Stay a while, will you?"_

_"I don't think so." Sherlock seethed, forcing his eyes to stay open. His vision was becoming blurry and he shook his head to try to keep himself awake. "I know what you put in the soup. It's not going to work on me."_

_The man laughed, sending shivers up Sherlock's spine. "It already has."_

_Sherlock knew he was right. Black spots started to dance in front of his eyes, and he gripped the table to keep himself from falling._

_"Fuck you."_

_"I think it'll be the other way around, actually."_

<<>>

John's flat was small, barely decorated, and a bit messy. But he had heating. That was all that mattered to Sherlock currently.

John stood beside him, and shrugged. "I know it's not the nicest place, but it's all I can afford right now."

"If it isn't cold and has a roof, I really don't mind what it looks like." Nodding awkwardly, John shifted on the balls of his feet, and then looked as if he suddenly realized something.

"Oh, you'd probably want to take a shower." He pointed to the short hallway on the left. "2nd door. Use whatever you want except my toothbrush. I think I have an extra in the top cabinet."  

Sherlock supposed John didn't want him to get his furniture dirty, so he nodded his head, hung his coat on the hook by the door, and started down the hall.

<<>>

The water massaged his scalp, and it felt as though hot, soothing fingers were scrubbing away the dirt and grime caked to his skin, washing it off until it swirled down the drain.

It was, to say the least, _bliss._

After the remaining soap suds were rinsed from his now clean body, Sherlock stepped out of the shower. He felt...almost happy. It was simply wonderful to be clean again.

His eyes traveled to the counter, and he saw that while he'd been in the shower, John had left him a change of clothes. How thoughtful. They didn't seem to be that worn either, but judging by the size of them, that was just because they were too large for John to fit in properly.

Sherlock dried himself off and slid the clean shirt on. He could definitely get used to this.

Though he doubted he'd ever get the chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I- thank you." was all Sherlock could say.
> 
> "No need to thank me, idiot. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm back with chapter number 2, since people actually seemed to like this? Whoa imagine that, heh.
> 
> I don't actually have anything else to say other than THANK YOU GUYS for all your nice comments. They really make my day.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> xx Lex
> 
> ALSO WARNING THE FIRST PART OF THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES KINDA DESCRIPTIVE NON CONSENSUAL SEX SO YEAH ITS IN ITALICS

_Sherlock wished the man had given him a stronger dose of ketamine. A stronger dose would've numbed the pain. A stronger dose would have rendered him mostly unconscious, and he wouldn't remember any of this when he woke up._

_But the dosage hadn't been that strong, and Sherlock knew that this memory would be hard to delete._

_He was pounded into the sheets again and again, each time sending a white hot dagger of pain_ _up his spine. In his drug induced haze, Sherlock absently wondered why the man hadn't used lube._

_Limbs feeling as heavy as led, he feebly tried to shift away._

_The man laughed coldly between moans and simply fucked him harder._

<<>>

Sherlock woke up in a cold sweat, panting heavily. Where was he? Run. He had to...The man- where was-

 _Oh._ He was at John's. This was John's couch. John was letting him stay here.

Slowly, the tension drained from his body, and it was only then he realized there were tears streaming down his face. "Damnit." This wasn't something to cry about, it was nothing. It was in the past and he was fine now. He shouldn't be crying.

As Sherlock hoisted himself from the worn down couch, his lower back screamed with a sharp, familiar pain.

_It's nothing._

<<>>

Breakfast with John was silent and awkward. Any move to start a conversation was quickly shot down by Sherlock's rushed, one worded answers.

It wasn't John's fault. Sherlock just felt... _off_. It wasn't from the dream. It couldn't be from the dream. He was probably just in need of a cigarette. But John, being a doctor, probably wouldn't approve. So he finished his toast quietly and afterwards set the plate on the counter.

"John, thank you for letting me spend the night, but I think it's best if I go now." Sherlock knew he'd overstayed his welcome, but he dreaded going back out into the cold nonetheless.

"It's freezing out, are you insane? You should stay, Sherlock. I don't mind."

Glancing reluctantly towards the door, Sherlock bit his lip. "That's very kind. Unfortunately, your kindness doesn't benefit you. I'll just take up money and space. You'd be stupid to keep me here."

"Guess I'm an idiot, then. But...if you really want to go, I won't stop you. Just know you can stay, alright?"

"...alright."

<<>>

Days went by. Weeks passed. It had been nearly a month, and John had never once indicated he wanted Sherlock to leave. That was a miracle in itself. But the thing that shocked Sherlock the most was John's offer to drive him to the Yard and see if they'd let him help with cases.

It showed that John noticed what Sherlock _liked_ , what he _enjoyed_ doing, what he _cared_ about.

"I- thank you." was all he could say.

"No need to thank me, idiot. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

Sherlock sat silent in the passenger seat of John's car, not able to reply.

It didn't make any sense. 

"Friend? I- I don't have friends, John." he forced out after a long moment of silence.

"…Right." John replied, sounding defeated.

_Damnit._

"I meant...I don't have  _friends._ " He emphasized the s. "I've only got one."

John gave Sherlock a slight smile, and Sherlock found it impossible not to smile back. 

When they got to the Yard, Lestrade recognized Sherlock almost immediately, probably from the multiple times Sherlock had forced his way to a crime scene and solved it before the rest of the police department threw him out. They unfortunately never put him in jail, which would have been much more merciful than sending him back to the streets.

But Sherlock wasn't one to complain about things like that.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked as they walked up to him. "Who's this, then?"

"John Watson." They shook hands, and John explained that Sherlock's skills could greatly help he and his team. The man in question remained uncharacteristically quiet.

"I know, I've seen him in action before. I'm not exactly supposed to do this, but…" The grey haired man dug out a case file, scribbling a series of digits on the front before he handed it to Sherlock. "You can work on this one. Call me if you figure out anything other than what's in the file."

Oh thank  _god._ Hopefully it would be slightly challenging. He muttered a thank you to Lestrade, and he and John made their way back to the flat.

<<>>

Sherlock sat on the couch with the file while John made dinner, and opened it. Six girls, all in their 20s. All with red, curly hair. 5 found alive, one dead. Clothes had been...torn apart.

_Suddenly, he was back on that damned bed, watching helplessly as the man ripped his clothes off. He felt so vulnerable, both hot and cold with fear at the same time. The man wouldn't stop, no matter how many incoherent pleas escaped Sherlock's lips._

No. He needed to stop thinking about it. He needed to focus on the case. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock read on.

The first girl was Erica Wells. She reported being at a party, and not paying attention to her drink. Ketamine was the substance used, and the forensics expert had found traces of it in her bloodstream.

_His legs wouldn't move. God, why couldn't he run? All his senses were amplified. Fear coursed through his veins just as he suspected the drug was doing-_

A pained noise surfaced from Sherlock's throat and he clutched desperately at the papers in his hands. He shouldn't be reacting like this. It had been nothing. He was alive, he was…mostly…unharmed, and he had no reason to act like this from reading a few words on a stupid piece of paper. The piece of paper that said the girl hadn't been prepared properly for sex, and had suffered vaginal tearing.

Sherlock threw the case to the floor as if it had burnt his hand.

_He was bleeding. He could hardly move and the fucking imbecile had dumped him out on the streets and there was blood all over his underwear and he couldn't breathe properly-_

"Sherlock?" John asked.

That was when Sherlock realized he was shaking violently, tears streaming down his face. _Pathetic._

"I'm f-fine." he spat. "Leave me alone."

"No, you're not." John said softly, and walked towards the case file to pick it up off the floor. He watched John's expression change to worry, shock and sadness all at once. "Christ, I- I don't want to assume anything, but…" He didn't finish his sentence, and instead sat down a safe distance from Sherlock.

"I told you I'm fine." Sherlock growled, glaring weakly at John. "I'm _f-fine_." His back heaved with a sudden sob and he turned away from John. No one could see Sherlock like this. Not even _him_.

"Hey. Hey, Sherlock, look at me please." John said softly.

Sherlock found he couldn't ignore John, and shifted back to face him. He was met with an expression he did not expect to see: affection. It almost looked as though John cared.

"What do you want?" he asked quietly.

"I want to help."

"I don't need help." 

Sherlock's words were broken and rushed, and he knew that John didn't believe him for a second.

"From what I can tell, you most definitely do." John replied.

<<>>

John had immediately decided to bring Sherlock to the hospital when he learned that the man hadn't gotten any medical treatment after...what had happened. Even though Sherlock deemed it unnecessary, John took him anyways.

It _hurt_. It hurt to have them poking and prodding, and then they decided a minor surgery was needed to help heal the...tears. Sherlock cringed. But soon, a mask was put on his nose and mouth. Anesthetic.

Everything was dark and numb and cold. Sherlock didn't know how long he was under, but when he woke up, there was a different kind of ache in his lower back. It was somewhat more bearable, since they'd lessened the pressure he'd feel.

"How are you?" John asked, walking towards Sherlock's hospital bed with cautious steps.

"Fine." John raised his eyebrows, but didn't question him further. He instead admitted that he'd given the case file back to Lestrade. _Damnit!_  Was Sherlock so weak that he couldn't solve cases anymore?

"You should t-tell him that I want another case file. A…different one. The one he gave me was too boring."

"Of course, Sherlock."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't guess by now, the italicized stuff is either dreams or flashbacks. You'll notice that Sherlock is triggered by things similar to what he went through that night, and he ends up having a flashback of that similar event. 
> 
> Also, to the people who wanted Dark!John, I'm sorry. I didn't have the heart to hurt Sherlock even more (though he WILL be slightly hurt more before the end of this story) 
> 
> Um I looked over this chapter tons of times but if you see any mistakes let me know.

**Author's Note:**

> *KETAMINE: Common date-rape drug. It mainly serves as anesthetic for both humans and animals.


End file.
